The End of all Things
by Cyanide Lemons
Summary: He wakes up in chains and the first thing he says into the tense line of soldiers that surround him is, "Not again."
1. Chapter 1

He wakes up in chains and freezes like his veins are suddenly ice. They feel like they are suddenly ice. He feels like someone has taken his body and driven all the cold of Skyhold into his chest so that his lungs will never defrost. His head pounds like he's tried to best Bull in a drinking contest, and the phantom ache of his non-existent hand is constant. He has to blink a few times in confusion before reality takes hold.

There should be more confusion. There should be rage and denial and a million questions and yet. And yet he knows.

He wakes up in chains and the first thing he says into the tense line of soldiers that surround him is,

"Not again."

A couple of them jump, unsteady. A few stumble with their blades and the sour stench of fear is strong and pungent. From his blurry memories he knows he should have been asleep for longer, knows this because the wound on his hand continues to bleed and that had stopped long before he woke last time.

Last time the mark was a surprise, a parasite on his body that left his veins forever frozen. This time it is an old friend, the one who doesn't fit you quite right and yet you feel like you can never live without. It is almost an afterthought in face of the screaming of nerves in his restored hand. Some flash of grief rises up in him when his fingers twitch.

Oh how he wants to rage.

Instead he chokes back the blood in the back of his throat and rolls his shoulders back as far as the chains will allow. Understanding time has never been once of his strengths, not like Dorian who could—

Well, he doesn't have to worry about that now. He knows enough to realize that that Dorian is gone.

He lets the pain in his chest work its way up to his throat and reaches for the ache in his hand. Its been a while, but he could never forget the sweet rush of the anchor. He needs it now to test the stability of not just where he is, but when he is. To determine if time is secure here or if they are all about to fall into the edge of the void and tear reality apart.

The feeling of the breech is a blight upon his senses, but it is the only anomaly he can feel. It is as if time has simply stitched over his existence like an errant fray. The corners of his mouth tick up and he lets himself slump forward again.

The men around him twitch once more. He voice is raspy and creaks like some old, ancient thing.

"I don't suppose one of you can tell me what's going on?"

—

"What do you mean the prisoner is awake?" The yell is muffled behind think oak wood, but Solas still slows to a stop in front of the door. He could theoretically go in and interrupt the Seeker from questioning the messenger. Considering he's the one with the most to answer for, for indeed he was the one to give her the prognosis of the stranger waking up no earlier then the next day, he is not enthusiastic to swap places.

Curiosity tugs at him, and he wishes to go down into the dungeons to inspect the mark again to find out the difference. Has something changed in the time since he treated the other elf last?

He turns around instead and walks to where the dwarf is waiting with a few soldiers. Someone will need to deal with the minor rifts in the valley, and he's best bet to observe any changes is to see it in action.

He very calmly walks away, and it is in no way a retreat.

He is barely around the corner before he can hear the smack of wood on stone and the clack of frustrated footsteps. The sound soon fades and he surmises that the Seeker has gone to check up on the now awake prisoner. He lets his hands unclasp from behind his back and lengthens his stride.

—

The sky is falling and the only lead they have was sleeping and now he's not. Cassandra doesn't even have Leliana as a steady presence besides her, to weasel out truth and to calm the raging waters so that she can think again. The Divine is dead, and by all accounts they might need to rely on her killer to save the rest of the world. It's a bitter medicine to swallow.

She pushes the heavy door open, lets the sound of wood splinter across her already worn down nerves. The darkness of the room takes a few seconds to adjust to, which turns out to be a good thing once she gets a good look at what's going on in the room.

The soldiers, who by rights should be beacons of restraint and duty, have broken formation and are visibly restless. Two of them are restraining one who seems to have abandoned his sword for his bare fists. There's one in the back who's hunched in and has a hand to his mouth, as if restraining laughter.

In the middle of the room the prisoner has a split lip and wry tilt to his lips. Awake, he seems a completely different man.

Her own lips curdle.

"Ma'am!" One of the soldiers yelps, straightening and snapping an awkward salute. The others quickly abandon whatever foolishness they where previously attempting and turn guilty eyes her way.

"What." Its all she can say before multiple voices try and be heard of each other. The sound of nervous shifting is almost drowned out by the noise and it takes a raised hand a truly enraged glare to stop both.

"You." She points to one who seems the least unruly. "Explain this."

A cleared throat. The soldier indicated is a roughened woman with a scar bisecting half her face, in the dim light her expression could be anything from foreboding to vaguely amused.

"The prisoner awoke half a candle ago. He took a while to awake fully, but when he did he appeared to be of sound mind and with no overt signs of possession. He asked what was going on and when he received no answer started a monologue of all the things that could have led to him here. Alvreigh…disagreed with some of the scenarios."

—

Cassandra grinds her teeth and mentally washes her hands of them. She'll let someone else discipline them, because although this sort of behaviour is dangerous, they have more pressing concerns.

"I still haven't gotten an answer." The prisoner says through a mouthful of blood. "About what's going on I mean. I assume it's something chantry related since there's such lovely decor, but ah, I appear to have a large chunk of time missing and it takes a truly outrageous amount of alcohol to do that, and don't you have vows against that or something?"

Suddenly Cassandra has a feeling she knows why Alvreigh is sporting such a mulish look.

"You." She says through clenched teeth. "Are here under suspicion of murder of Her Most Holy, as well as the conclave she was overseeing."

A pause.

"You're shitting me." The elf says, suddenly deadpan.

She marches closer and yanks him up, noticing as she does that he is heavier then he should be for his size and race.

"You are the only survivor, and thus the only suspect. You will tell me what you know." She lets her eyes room his face, memorizing details.

"Nothing" He says, quiet and steady. "That was the whole point of being there in the first place, finding out what was happening. As far as I know I arrived at the conclave and then awoke in chains."

There's a crash from outside and her attention wavers again. She drops him down, fingers snatching his wrists before he can withdraw too much. It's with a quiet click that his manacles unlock and drop to the floor.

"We will see." She says, before barking at the awaiting soldiers standing awkwardly silent.

"Meet with Leliana at the forward camp. I will bring the prisoner and we will see where blame can be placed."

—

Things are different. He knew they would be of course, just being who he is means things are different.

He isn't bound with rope for the short walk outside. The speech on the way is changed, more rushed. The people rushing back and forth don't spare them much more then panicked glares.

The tension seems to be somehow even more extreme then the first time, when he woke up after some sort of order had been established.

Some distant part of him recognizes that his memories are subject to a lot of suspicion. He can't rely on them for accurate information.

They walk across the stone bridge and Cassandra nods to the men stationed there. He recognizes one of them as a pale face in the Skyhold courtyards, one leg crippled and the other cut off at the knee. He stands on two whole limbs and Tarien has to look away before the memories overtake him.

A voice in his head pounds against his temple, they don't know him, they don't know him, he could run, he could stop the whole "Andraste's chosen" nonsense before it even starts. He could fuck off into the wilderness and close each rift one by one, become a wolf who scares the sheep into gathering for an even bigger threat.

They don't know him, he tells himself.

His teeth ache, and the sulphur in the air chokes his lungs before they come across the first wave of demons.

Then his mind clears and he readies his feet. He has no sword this time, no convenient cash of weapons tumbling down in a shower of rubble. But he doesn't need a sword to be dangerous now.

The first demon goes crashing under his fist, dissolving into nothing under the pull of the fade in his hand. There's an ear piercing screech and then just dust motes swirling in the air.

Cassandra stops to stare at him like he's some beast to rise up and devour her.

The ones after that go down much the same.

There's a whisper on the breeze that speaks of change.

Somewhere there's an ancient woman smiling into a mirror, touching the face of time.

Some men think they are clever enough to plan for everything. They think they can cup the world in their hands as if it is a small, fragile thing. As if they can play dice with the natural order and pay no fee.

Flemeth though, she plays a longer game. One that isn't about revival or power or the things that hide in the dark. It's not even about survival.

Some fights are not won by playing by the victor's rules.


	2. Chapter 2

They get to the first camp much like he remembers from before. Soldiers are desperately pushing the demons back, and he can see Varric and Solas in the middle doing what they do best.

He ignores the throng of fighters and lifts his fist up to the rift, feeling the edges of the tear slam shut, stitching close under the anchors pull. The demons waver and disintegrate under the soldiers crashing into him.

There's a relieved silence for a minute, before Varric starts clapping. Tarien smiles and takes a dramatic bow. The milling soldiers fade into the background and then its just him and his new-old companions.

"Interesting. It appears that I was correct, the mark does have a connection to the rifts." Solas says, coming up to stand besides him. Tarien has to stop himself from just decking the other elf. A mantra starts in head.

 _Can't punch him can't punch him can't punch him I'm trying to be sneaky here can't punch him._

"Which means it could be able to close the breach itself." Cassandra says. "Although it does bring up the question on how you knew what to do in the first place."

Tarien shrugs.

"Instinct?" He says, not all that concerned. A snort from behind him has him turning.

"Good to know, and here I thought we would be ass deep in demons forever, but it looks like your shiny magic hand comes with an instruction manual." Varric says, putting away his crossbow.

"Which reminds me, Seeker, the amount of magic necessary for a casting this large would require an immense amount of power. Far out of the reach of any mage." Solas puts in.

Tarien pats his knees, reminds himself that murder this soon into his return is inadvisable, and shifts farther away from Solas as a reminder.

"And I'm not a mage, so no worries there." He says. This gets him a considering look from both Solas and Cassandra, and he opens his palms to show the sword calluses there.

"Plain ol' sharp weapons guy. Don't got a lick of magic in my blood. Well, unless you count my sister, who once almost burned down the whole aravel, but I had nothing to do with that." Tarien says. Varric laughs.

"Somehow I have the feeling there's more to that story." He says, and Tarien winks at him.

"Well, whatever the case we should keep moving. We need to meet up with the rest of the forces and shut down that breach." Cassandra prompts, already moving away towards the rest of the path. The others follow her, but Tarien stops to make sure to pilfer some loot and find a decent sword.

When Cassandra sees him with the weapon she scowls, but he only winks at her and saunters towards the demons in the distance.

Time to get to work.

* * *

Varric has had his share of improbable quests, death-defying stunts and mysterious magic, but this really has to take the cake. He shoots another demon and watches as the elf with the mark punches another one in the face, ignoring his stolen sword completely.

Varric feels almost nostalgic. It's like being with Hawke again.

But that's the thing; it took time for Hawke to get how she is, punching demon's in the face and all. And here comes this elf, tripping out of fade rifts and just magically knowing how to close them. Varric has written, and lived, enough stories to know there's more going on then just "instinct".

And then there's the fact that he just doesn't seem to give a single shit about what's going on. All smiles and shrugs and casual saunter. Some of that appears to be a defence mechanism, especially in face of the Lady Seekers disapproval, but some of it is genuine. He really just doesn't care.

Varric shoot's the last wraith in it's misshapen head and starts his interrogation.

"So how did you end up at the conclave anyways?" He asks the elf, sidling up to him as he starts rummaging around and collecting things. At some point they had ended up with the elf leading them, for no real reason that Varric could see. He wasn't going to point it out.

"For the same reason most of the clan elves were there." He says, sending a wry smile Varric's way.

He hums and nods. A spy then. Although it's odd that they would send a fighter and not a thief.

"And did you do it?" Varric asks, watching Cassandra get progressively more frustrated by the slow pace as the elf continues picking elfroot and not walking towards the forward camp.

"What? Blow up the conclave? No, or at least I don't remember it." The elf responds, finally standing up and heading towards the path. Varric snorts.

"There's where you went wrong. Should have made up a story." He says. Cassandra snorts.

"That is what you would say." She says in disgust. Varric ignores her.

"Naw, I've never been good at lying. I would have ended up blurting out something ridiculous like, I don't know, I'm actually a time traveling cult leader or something." The elf says as they crest the snow-covered hill.

Varric laughs.

"I'll keep that in mind if we ever play cards. Always up for winning some more money." He says. Next to him he can barely hear a quiet snort from Solas. He feels his eyebrows rise. Was that a laugh?

* * *

They get to the forward camp relatively early, and here too Tarien sees changes. It's less built up for one, and there's more people milling around. Quite a few of them are seriously injured, and haven't been carted back down to the healers yet. Last time they probably died before they could get there.

Hopefully at least a few of them are saved this time. They are going to need as many people as possible in the coming months.

He slows as soon as he sees Leliana and the chancellor up ahead and silently groans to himself. He had been hoping that the changed timeline would mean he wouldn't have had to deal with the man.

As soon as the chancellor sees them he goes to yell, but Tarien interrupts before he has to listen to the same spiel again.

"So!" He says loudly over the other man's spluttering. "What's the plan to get rid of that giant hole in the sky? You know, the one killing a bunch of people and spewing out demons like it's a Friday night at the Hanged Man?"

He can feel Varric startle besides him.

"You've been to the Hanged Man?" He asks curiously. Tarien snorts.

"I've heard the stories." He says wryly. The Chancellor is getting progressively more red, and he finally seems to have recovered over being interrupted.

"You! You did this!" He yells. Tarien blinks and completely ignores him. He turns towards Leliana.

"Right, you look like you're in charge here. What's the plan?" He says, to which Leliana smiles and Cassandra coughs.

"The way ahead is filled with demons. I suggest we take the mountain path, I have a team of scouts in the area that should be able to help with any opposition you find." Leliana says, turning and effectively cutting out the chancellor completely.

The man sputters and slams his hands on the table. Tarien waves a hand in his direction and doesn't take his eyes off of the spymaster.

"Shh, mister cult priest person. Important demon destruction planning going on." Tarien says, to Varric's laughter.

Cassandra tries to look disapproving, but tellingly doesn't turn to include the man either.

"I still think the forward path would be a better option. We haven't heard from the scouts in a day and it's impossible to say what's over the mountain. Plus we would only have a small force able to go." She says. Tarien nods his head.

"Well, why can't we do both?" He asks. At both of their confused looks he explains.

"We can take the mountain path while you ready the troops for a forward charge, find your missing scouts, come back down, and go with the charge. Redundant, but then everyone gets saved." He says.

Cassandra shakes her head.

"That will take too long. The more we wait the more people out there are getting killed, we should charge–"

"With what forces? Most of them are still back at Haven, or on route." Leliana interrupts. "We can do as he says and by the time they come back down we just might have the men to make it possible."

Cassandra purses her lips. In the background the chancellor still looks like he is about to have a stroke.

"Alright. But you'll be the one to tell Cullen about this detour." She finally says to Leliana, who looks smug. Tarien smiles.

"For someone who supposedly can't lie, you sure have a way with words." Varric says.

"Indeed." Solas puts in.

He laughs.

* * *

They find the scouts, and a small rift. Cassandra looks a lot happier with their decision when they learn that the scouts might not have made it otherwise. They send the scouts on a head to be in waiting for the rest of the force and go back.

The climb down the mountain is just as annoying as the climb up. Tarien bemoans his weaker limbs and wishes he still had his dragon killer physique. Some things don't follow you back in time though, and the body is one of them. A good thing too, because otherwise he wouldn't have the anchor still.

He cringes at himself a little at the thought. No doubt he would be dead right now, since his only use really is his ability to close rifts. Although he does have to ask himself why everyone seems to be following his lead in that case.

It's not like he knows the area.

He thumps down off the last latter and clears the bottom for the others, before turning his attention down the path. In the distance he can just make out the camp, and in the middle of it the fur cape of its commander. The amount of soldiers milling about has increased quite a lot too, although a lot of them appear to be rather poorly equipped.

Hopefully equipped enough for a Pride demon fight.

"Ach, finally. I don't know how you do it barefoot Chuckles, but I am not a dwarf that likes the cold." Varric says, trailing behind. Solas hums.

"Well I can tell you it's not an elf thing." Tarien says, waving his own frost covered hands.

"Heat spells." Solas says smugly. Tarien stops and turns wide eyes his way.

"You can do that?" He asks incredulously. "Damn, now I wish I was the one that inherited the ability to light things on fire."

"But the demons." Cassandra says wryly, overtaking them and starting down the path.

Tarien jogs to catch up with her.

"But then I could just launch a fireball at their face." He says excitedly.

"I don't think it works that way." Varric chuckles.

"Indeed. And then you would have to deal with, ah, how did you say it, the 'cult priest people'. " Solas says. Tarien wrinkles his nose.

"True."


End file.
